


the quiet mist

by leafinsect



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (both of them), Autistic Character, Disability, Gen, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter (if you choose to interpret it that way), Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Girl Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 19:06:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4448546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafinsect/pseuds/leafinsect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione thinks, and Harry feels. [Deathly Hallows, before Ron comes back]</p>
            </blockquote>





	the quiet mist

The fog that settled on the wood and permeated through the understory made it difficult to tell what time of day it was. That, and the way her and Harry had been travelling made the days blur into an indiscernible fog all on their own. 

Wherever they apparated, the dreary gray sky never failed to follow. Sometimes it weighed down on them, utilizing the entire viewable horizon to suffocate the pair of witches, like that place with the endless hills populated with grass high enough to stroke their waists. Other times, the sky’s heavy gaze softened thanks to the protection of the canopy overhead, like here and now. Hermione shut off the lantern once she felt a tentative drop of rain on her nose. 

“Warming charms would have to do for now,” she mused, as she rose from her seat on a stump dotted with fungus. Hermione lifted the door of the tent (more of a tarp, really) to see Harry on her makeshift bed, fiddling with the snitch again. 

Harry’s emotions were never difficult to read. Even slumped over with only half of her face exposed, Hermione could tell what specific brand of sullen and tired Harry felt at the moment. It was visible in the extra dullness of her chin-length hair, messily cut after a narrow escape from the enemy had sectioned off a good chunk. Of course, her thick curls were always untameable, before, her hair had always flowed around her, alive as if by magic.

Harry’s dark skin was always warm, even when burdened with “whatever tragedy had come about this year,” as she would say, but perpetual fear and exhaustion had made it almost visibly cold. Hermione shook her head. She was thinking too far into things, which likely was a result with being on the run with nothing to analyze or dissect. Maybe she should have brought her Advanced Arithmancy textbook, or a science fiction novel, or something--

Harry shivered slightly out of the corner of her eye. Right. Boredom was a given, but not the worst part of being on the run. 

Hermione sat next to Harry, the cot making a noise at the shift in weight. She and put a hand on her shoulder and felt the cold fabric of Harry’s sweater, as if it hadn’t been clinging to her skin for days now. Harry turned her head, giving her friend a bleary look. Hermione gave a tired smile that gently probed for a response out of Harry. She had been near silent for days. 

Which was okay, which Hermione definitely understood, but it didn’t hurt to try. 

A squeeze of her shoulder prompted Harry to try to smile back, but it came out lopsided and halfhearted, as if she just didn’t have the energy. Harry opened her mouth, concentrating, attempting to form words, but looked off and let out a sigh.

Hermione was about to reassure her that she doesn’t need a verbal response, what they were doing was fine, but Harry found her voice and said, “I don’t know how you do it.” 

 

“Hm?” Hermione made a questioning noise. “Do what?”

Harry had to pause before speaking, taking extra time to evaluate her response in her head. “You always know what to say and do, and even in a situation like this, somehow you have the energy to smile just because you know it’ll make me feel better. Or... something.” 

Hermione laughed. “I think I just know you by now. Even if I did always know what to do, it’s not much easier than it is for you to try to help.” She crossed her legs over the scratchy sheets. “We are in the same boat, after all.” She didn’t say that it was different for everyone; Harry knew that.

Hermione had learned how to respond as was perceived correctly out of necessity. Harry as well, but Harry was more vulnerable to emotional volatility, more prone to being absorbed in hurt, more vulnerable, period. Which was okay, Hermione thought again. 

It was insurmountably difficult and draining for both witches to speak and act the way everyone wanted them to--constantly working ten times as hard as others to read people and situations for their safety, but for Hermione, reading Harry was effortless.

Harry sat up and gave a smile which looked like it required much less effort than the first attempt. It was faint and grey like the fog, but softer, and it didn’t linger--it was mist. When Harry whispered “thanks” and let her head fall onto Hermione’s waiting shoulder, the rain finally started to tap away at the roof of the tent.

**Author's Note:**

> Hermione is black and Jewish and Harry is Indian, if you're curious.


End file.
